Review: Stupidity reigns supreme in ‘40 Days and 40 Nights’

Geoff Carter

Friday, March 1, 2002 | 8:57 a.m.

UA Showcase 8, UA Rainbow Promenade 10, Century Orleans 18, Century Cinedome 12 Henderson, Rancho Santa Fe 16, Las Vegas Drive-in, Century Sam's Town, Regal Cinemas Sunset Station, Regal Cinemas Texas Station 18, Regal Cinemas Village Square 18, Regal Cinemas Green Valley Ranch 10.

"40 Days and 40 Nights" is so stupid that I almost feel bad shooting holes in it. It exists in a pure fantasy world in which all men are comfortable enough with each other to discuss self-love over lunch, all women are hard-bodied and oversexed, and Internet companies are making money.

This film doesn't need criticism; it needs therapy, and lots of it.

Josh Hartnett is Matt, a twentysomething regular-guy caricature (he's even got a "Mr. Bubble" T-shirt) who can't get his groove back: Ever since he lost his sexpot girlfriend Nicole (Vinessa Shaw), he's been Nervous in the Service. Halfway through sex with the girl du jour, he hallucinates giant cracks forming in the ceiling and freaks out.

Rather than get immediate psychiatric help, he decides to quit all sex -- including self-gratification -- for Lent: the 40 days and nights of the title. In doing so, he surmises, he can get over Nicole, and gain a better sense of himself.

It's a noble endeavor, which makes you wonder why all his friends torture him so cruelly. His male friends set up an Internet betting pool on him and spike his orange juice with Viagra; the women in his office (he seems to have no female friends) photocopy their underwear and try to ensnare him in threesomes. Even his brother, a priest (Adam Trese), tries to knock him off the wagon.

The only person sapping his resolve is Erica (Shannyn Sossamon, great in "A Knight's Tale" but sadly underused here), a professional Web surfer (doesn't anyone in San Francisco have a non-Web job?) with whom he shares genuine moments. We know they're genuine because they're underscored by perky alt-pop, and shot in soft golden light. It's the immaculate courtship!

Director Michael Lehmann, who has long since burned off the credibility he earned with 1989's wickedly funny "Heathers," seems entirely lost. He strikes so many reversals, many of them mean-spirited, that you have a hard time liking anybody, or even knowing anybody. Writer Rob Perez is no help -- he, too, is content to torture Matt, surrounding him with nothing but cheap dates, willing to roll over for a nickel.

And on a professional note, I still can't tell if Hartnett can act or not. The action in "Black Hawk Down" drowned out everyone, and "Pearl Harbor" was a terrible, terrible experience for all concerned. He struggles in "40 Days," ultimately, you can't buy him. John Cusack excels at these roles -- they take more than bug eyes and stammering, and Hartnett just doesn't seem to have the tools.

Actually, he has one. I don't think I'm giving too much away by telling you that Matt starts to lose it by the end of Lent, seeing naked women everywhere and walking around with a prodigious, er, token of his affections. Only a true idiot could be unaware he was carrying that kind of hardware, and only a dumb token of a movie could try to get us to rally behind what is essentially a pointless, dirty joke. Read Maxim instead. It's got more decorum.